Protego Totalum
by shineyma
Summary: A collection of drabbles from shineyma and SapphireBlueJiyuu's Potterverse. For character back stories, the Potterverse introduction, questions, or to submit a prompt of your own, please visit us at our tumblr community, agents-of-hogwarts.
1. Chapter 1

**Oʀɪɢɪɴs** : The genesis of the DrabbleVerse was first created by celiatully (on Tumblr) and we owe our greatest thanks for her generosity and compliance to employ her brain child for our amusement. Thank you so much Celia for inspiring a system of storytelling like no other.

 **Wʜᴀᴛ ɪs Dʀᴀʙʙʟᴇᴠᴇʀsᴇ?** : In Celia's words, she describes the term as:

"A set of drabbles that all take place in the same verse."

Yes, we know, pretty obvious, right? But it gets a little complicated from there.

We, SapphireBlueJiyuu and shineyma, the writers of the drabbles, have no say in what the prompts will be. They are sent in at designated times by our followers/fans of the drabbleverse. As such, there is no "plot trajectory" that we are planning, and for all we know, rocks may fall and everyone may die tomorrow. So it's a long-form experience of writing without a plan. Our goal, ultimately, is that there will be a plot. We both have a very broad outline to work with, but neither of us will be pushing that plot unless an opportunity presents itself.

It could all crash and burn real fast. It could also be amazing.

Here's hoping for the latter.

* * *

 **Prompt** : _Coulson and Skye #1 Introduction_

With her head propped up by her hand, Skye gazed down the long table and took in the faces of the staff, as the older students filed into the Great Hall. There was Jemma and Fitz who were sitting next to her (animatedly discussing a new match that would stay lit as long as it wasn't doused in water), with Trip and Grant on the other side of them commenting about Trip's summer job at the Aurors' field office.

Further down from them, Lance was leaning against the table joking around with Izzy and Mack while Mike was showing pictures (most likely of his son) to the newcomer, Bobbi Morse.

Skye turned her head to rest her chin on her palm and puffed out a sigh of boredom. On the other side of her, Doctor Streiten and Billy the grounds keeper were discussing possible charms to add around the Forbidden Forest, while Raina amused herself by gliding the tip of her finger along the rim of her wine glass, producing a melodic sound with each swipe, a coy smile gracing her features.

When she stopped abruptly and looked up towards the doors, Skye figured the first years must have arrived. They were likely being prepped by Professor Hill for the sorting ceremony and Skye wondered where Coulson was.

It was customary for the head of the administration to sit in the three middle seats at the head-table and, at the moment, all three were unoccupied. With Maria outside and May stalking along the walls of the Great Hall, Skye pulled out her pocket watch and began counting down the seconds before she could begin teasing Headmaster Coulson for being late to the welcome feast he insisted everyone _not_ be late to.

Her hopes were dashed though as the side door opened and the headmaster briskly walked in with the Sorting Hat in hand. Placing it atop the wooden stool, he turned to the staff table and cleared his throat. "Thank you for being prompt. Let's get started, shall we?"

Adjusting the deep blue hat on his head, Coulson turned in his spot and stepped up to the podium. "Good evening, ladies and gentlemen, new and returning students, ghosts and guests. For those who do not know, I am Headmaster Philip Coulson, chief administrator here at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. It is with great honor that I welcome you all. Before we begin, I have a few quick announcements to make before the feast and the sorting ceremony.

"First order of business, I have the distinct pleasure of welcoming to our staff, Professor Morse who will be taking over for Professor Po the position as instructor for Care of Magical Creatures so that he may retire with his remaining limbs. Good luck, Professor Morse.

"I hope and trust that your stay here will be both comfortable and enjoyable. The school will be officially opened at the end of the feast. Here's hoping for a year filled with good work and good memories. I now invite you all to eat, drink, and make yourselves at home…"

* * *

 **Prompt** : _Hunter and Jemma #20 Cookies_

It's the final staff meeting before term starts, Headmaster Coulson is halfway through his general announcements, and Jemma is contemplating violence.

It's not the announcements, of course. Those have all been fairly inoffensive—and, in one case, quite interesting, as the new Care of Magical Creatures professor, Bobbi Morse, was introduced at the beginning of the meeting.

Nor is it due to the heat in the room, although that's certainly not helpful. (Why Coulson insisted on holding this meeting in the dungeons—and one of the rooms in which the temperature control charms have long since failed, at that—instead of in the staff room, she really couldn't guess.)

No, the reason Jemma is mentally listing every mildly painful curse she knows is simple: Lance is hogging the biscuits.

The house-elves have, as usual, entirely outdone themselves, and they've been granted a lovely array of snacks for the meeting—including Jemma's favorite chocolate biscuits. However, the plate bearing them is _just_ out of her reach, sitting right next to Lance's elbow as it is. And when she tried to discreetly signal him to slide it down the table, he _blatantly_ ignored her!

Coulson is _still_ talking. "Furthermore, the faculty prank war, as fun as it was—for some of us, at least—has _not_ been named an annual event, and will _not_ be repeated this year. I know that…"

She makes brief eye contact with Lance, and he gives her a smug little smirk as he bites into yet another biscuit (his tenth. She's counting). Jemma's eyes narrow. That is _it_.

Casually, she shifts in her seat, removing her hands from the table in favor of folding them in her lap as she does so. She takes a careful glance around the room, but no one seems to have found anything odd about her movement. Good.

She discreetly palms her wand. Lance is sitting across the table and one seat down, and she takes aim at him under the table. She's never _entirely_ mastered silent casting (it takes a certain single-mindedness that she's mostly lacking; she's always thinking twenty things at once, and it tends to mess her silent spells up, a bit), but she can manage simple spells.

And a simple spell is exactly what she casts. She can tell the moment the itching jinx takes effect; Lance twitches a little in his seat, then forcibly stills himself. He only manages it for a moment, though, before he begins scratching desperately at his arms and torso, drawing everyone's attention.

With all of her colleagues distracted by Streiten's fussing and Lance's complaining, it's a simple matter for her to cast a very low-powered summoning charm—just enough for the plate to slide within her reach. By the time everyone settles down, she's happily enjoying her third biscuit.

Lance reaches for a biscuit without looking and, when his hand meets nothing but empty air, frowns around the table in confusion. The look of dawning realization on his face when his eyes meet hers is honestly the most beautiful thing she's seen all week.

 _This means war_ , he mouths.

Jemma simply smiles as she bites into another biscuit. Whatever revenge Lance takes, it will be entirely worth it.

* * *

 **Prompt** : _Ward x Simmons - Dark_

"Hey."

Grant froze for a moment before turning to see Jemma's silhouette glow from the light that came from the hallway. "Hey."

"Why are you looking through my stores in the dark?" she asked. As accusatory as her words may have been, they were undercut by the mirth that lined her timbre, so Grant was sure she wasn't upset to find him in there. He watched in rapt fascination as she murmured a simple spell that brought light to the small space.

The room itself was no larger than his wing span; if he stretched out his arms straight out, his fingertips would surely touch the wall and the other the one across from it.

It made for a snug fit with two people standing in it.

Grant cleared his throat before he gingerly lowered his lit wand. Before he could start making his excuses though, the petite Potions professor pointed to his other hand and asked, "Valerian?"

Grant glanced down at the small bundle of flowers in his hand and nodded slowly. "Yeah."

Jemma smirked as she clasped her hands behind her. "I don't mind that you took some, Professor Ward, but I am curious as to why you would be making Treacle fudge this late at night."

He visibly stilled before carefully answered, "I wasn't."

Taken aback by his answer, Jemma gave him a befuddled look. "Oh… did someone have an epilepsy episode?"

Grant bit the inside of his cheek before he shook his head negatively. "No."

Jemma ran through the potions that would require Valerian in it - _Forgetfulness Potion, Draught of Living Death, Draught of Peace_ \- when she finally took a closer look at the Defense Against the Dark Arts instructor: blood shot eyes, dark half moon bags under his eyes, that drowsy look he'd been trying to hide…

"Sleeping Draught…" She whispered.

His eyes harden before he pulled out a galleon from his pocket and handed it to her wordlessly. Grant gently pushed past the English woman to leave the storage closet when she called to him.

"Professor Ward?"

His steps ceased but he was too ashamed to turn around so was left standing there with his back to her. As though she were waiting for him to look at her, Grant decided to get this over with and looked over his shoulder to see a troubled expression marred her normally cheerful face. "If you ever need to talk… about anything, that is… my office is always open."

Grant was silent, staring at her intently until she began to squirm under his intense gaze. Then the look was gone, replaced instead with a tired expression. "Thank you, Professor Simmons, but this should do the trick." With that, he walked down the hall towards his office and Jemma could not help but think his shoulders looked as though they were carrying some invisible weight the world could not see.

* * *

 **Prompt** : _Bobbi and Trip #55 Waiting_

Trip heard the sounds of footsteps from the floor below followed by the password — " _powdered doughnut_ " — and the rise of the large phoenix statue from the hole in the ground of the alcove. Bobbi Moorse walked up the steps and was greeted by his jovial smile. She returned it easily as she joined him the small hallway leading up to the Headmaster's office.

"He's in with the deputy headmistress. They said they wouldn't be long." The Transfigurations professor offered.

Bobbi nodded. "Sounds good. What are you here for?"

Trip's smiled twitched before falling back into place but not before Bobbi noticed. She was about to retract her question, stating that he didn't have to answer if he didn't want to but Trip offered a vague answer instead. "Headmaster gave me some homework over the summer holiday. I'm just here to turn in the report."

"Ah. I see." She thought it wise not to pry any further.

Casually moving the conversation away from the topic, Trip tilted his chin towards her and asked, "You?"

"I need a set of keys for my quarters. Spells didn't work so I suspected I needed a physical key to get in but when I went to Koenig, he said that he needed the "all clear from the Headmaster" before he — and I quote — _went off and handed keys out willy-nilly to just anyone who asked him_."

Trip rolled his eyes. "Yeah. He's paranoid like that."

Bobbi figured Trip and Koenig may have had a history but again decided that perhaps that was a story for another time.

They stood there in silence for a bit before Bobbi turned towards Trip and curiously asked, "Just to be perfectly clear, there's no way anyone can apparate into or within the school borders, right?"

The man nodded. "Yep. Even the Apparition instructor, Idaho, has to take the train into the school grounds."

Bobbi was quiet for a beat, her eyebrows furrowed in deep concentration, as she gracefully twirled her wand about in her hand. "Lately… or maybe not lately…" She sighed deeply before trying to collect her thoughts and then started over again, "Have you seen… I don't really know how to describe it but… a strange hooded-figure hanging about the edge of the Forbidden Forest?"

Trip chuckles. "There are lots of strange figures that hang about the Forest."

It was Bobbi's turn to roll her eyes. "Well, I know _that_. But, this morning when I was out by the pen feeding the hippogriffs, I could've sworn I felt someone watching me from the trees. When I went to take look, no one was there and I didn't hear or see anything."

Trip thought about what she was saying for a moment before he slowly nodded, "I'll keep an eye out for you."

She smiled and thanked him just as Maria Hill came out of the office and told Trip that Headmaster Coulson was ready for him.

* * *

 **Prompt** : _Ward x Simmons - Drink_

It's a cold, wet, miserable day—the kind of day perfect for staying inside with a hot drink and pretending the world outside doesn't exist.

Which means that it is, in turn, the kind of day that's _horrible_ for a trip to Hogsmeade.

Unfortunately, Hogsmeade weekends are scheduled far in advance (in order to give the shopkeepers enough notice to make sure their stores are properly stocked and staffed to deal with an influx of young, rowdy customers), and a little thing like torrential rain isn't considered sufficient cause to cancel one.

Even worse, Grant's name came up in the draw for chaperons, which means he's obligated to spend all day in Hogsmeade, keeping an eye on the students.

Luckily, Headmaster Coulson—although always excused from chaperon duty, thanks to the privileges of rank—is not _entirely_ without mercy, and so the patrolling schedule is drawn up in such a way that the various professors only have to spend about three hours each _actually_ outside.

The rest of the time, they're assigned to stay inside some of the more popular shops.

Grant is extremely fortunate on that score; after his first shift patrolling the streets, he's assigned to stay in the Three Broomsticks for two hours.

The pub is warm, brightly lit, and very, very crowded, but after an hour and a half in the freezing, pouring rain, the noise isn't enough to bother him. He orders a warm Butterbeer, claims a table with a good vantage point (both because he needs to keep an eye on the many students present and because some habits are hard to break) and settles in for what he anticipates will be a very boring two hours.

He's wrong.

About twenty minutes after he sits down, a shadow falls across his table, and he looks up from his drink to find Jemma Simmons standing there. She's obviously just come from outside; her hair and robes, though obviously recent recipients of drying charms, are still slightly damp, and her robes in particular are clinging to her in a very…noticeable way.

He swallows.

"Mind if I join you?" she asks brightly.

"Not at all," he manages, and motions to the empty chair.

"Thank you," she says, sinking into the seat and dropping a Honeyduke's bag onto the table. "It's just awful out there, isn't it?"

"It really is," he agrees. "What brings you out?"

He knows she's not on the chaperon rotation this weekend. Not that he checked, or anything—he just noticed that her name wasn't on the list. That's all.

"Ice Mice," she says, and motions to the Honeyduke's bag. "My mum's birthday is tomorrow, and she loves them. I spent all week putting off a trip here, hoping the rain would let up, but…"

But it didn't.

"Anyway," she continues. "I thought I'd stop in for a nice, warm drink before I brave the walk back to the castle."

"You're not going to Floo?" he asks, surprised. All of the fireplaces in the professors' quarters are connected to the Floo Network, as is the fireplace here at the Three Broomsticks. He has no idea why she would walk when she could just Floo from here.

"I thought about it," she says. "But it seemed unfair of me, when the students don't have the option."

He shakes his head, amused. It's completely ridiculous and exactly what he would expect of her.

He tries not to think too much about the fact that he finds it endearing instead of idiotic.

"If, that is, you don't mind sharing your table for a while?" she asks.

"Not at all," he says. "Actually, I've been meaning to talk to you. I saw your article in _Defense Weekly_ about broad-spectrum antidotes, and I had some questions." He clears his throat. "If you've got the time, I mean."

She smiles brightly, and his heart does _not_ do anything weird at the sight. "Of course! Ask away."

In the end, it's only Grant's need to return to patrolling the village that ends their conversation. He shakes his head as he applies a warming charm to his cloak and steps out into the street.

He is in so much trouble with that woman.

* * *

 **Prompt** : _Fitz and Mack #59 "No Way Out"_

Walking down the corridor towards Fitz's Workshop, Mack heard a persistent thumping sound coming from the Charm's classroom. Deciding that can't be a good noise, he went to investigate it and found his suspicions confirmed when he could hear Fitz's muffled and sad pleas coming from the cabinet at the far end of the room.

Pushing aside the large desk that was propped in front of its doors, Mack pulled back the handle to reveal, a much frazzled Charms professor tumble out of the darkness.

"Oh thank Merlin!" Fitz exclaimed as he blinked his eyes, trying to adjust to the lights that flooded his vision.

"You okay there, Turbo?" Mack asked as he gave the Scotsman a once over and was slightly relieved to see that he was otherwise not harmed. "Do you know who did it?"

"One of the bloody students!" Fitz asked as he scrabbled about the room looking for something, only to reveal his wand in hand a moment later. That would explain why he couldn't get out of the closet himself, large desk in the way or no. "Just because there is a damn Quidditch match tomorrow and half of the class is going to be playing in the game _does not_ excuse them from Charms exam! Guess they figured if I wasn't here to give the exam, it would mean they wouldn't have to take it."

Mack chuckled, "Well, kids are stupid. What do you expect?"

"I expect that if they were going to lock a bloke in a damn broom closet, the least they could have done was leave some food in there for him." He puffed in irritation. "I'm _bloody_ starving."

The Herbology instructor smiled and clapped his hand on the smaller man's back, simultaneously ushering him out of the classroom. "Well, come on then. Let's go get you fed and then we could talk about getting a new irrigation system set up in the greenhouses."

"Yeah?" Leo's eyes lit up at the prospect of a new project, already drawing up plans in his head, the student's misdemeanor currently pushed aside. "What were you thinking of?"

"I've got a few ideas." Mack teased as they made their way down the revolving staircases.

* * *

 **Prompt** : _Trip and May #14_

Even though it was his idea, Trip may live to regret his decision in offering to spar with Melinda May. Her legendary skills were not garnered by exaggerated credentials but by living through death. He feels it through each spell casted, through the stance she held and, especially, the way her face was relaxed but her eyes were alight with concentration.

Complete and utter control of each and every move she made.

He wouldn't exactly describe her fighting style as that of a dancer gliding across a studio room (though he could see the similarities). No, perhaps a tigress would be more suited for her; feline like ferocity and an unparalleled ability to utilize its senses and natural skills. And she was a force of nature indeed as he worked the room, hoping that he didn't trip over his own feet as he backed away from each blow she casted on him.

He marveled in the way the muscles of her forearm would flex just so, right before she would whisper her attack.

Just as he was sure he was gaining a footing in the duel, Trip felt a chill course through him as he watched in rapt fascination, a slow satisfied smile curved across her beautiful face.

The curse landed without warning and soon he did not have to worry about falling backwards – his feet were rooted right where he was last standing. He looked up to see her wand poised in front of him before she pointed it at his legs and soon he felt feeling rush through to his lower extremities once again.

She nodded at him as he found his footing. "That was good. You might want to work on your form. Spar with Bobbi, she'll be able to help you with that. She's good with form." She offered as she walked across the room to grab her robe.

Trip nodded. "Thanks. I didn't even see that last spell coming."

May shrugged. "I saw you watching my arms and I know I have a natural tick right before I would cast I spell. So, I fixed it."

Stunned at her admission, Trip shook his head. It was exhilarating to work with a master. "I might have to have some tricks up my sleeve the next time we face-off."

The flying instructor nodded with a rare grin, for once, her expression apparent on her face. "I look forward to it."

* * *

 **Prompt** : _Ward and Jemma #1 Introduction_

Training and working as a Hit-Wizard gives a man some…unusual skills. Grant knows it and has had plenty of reason, over the years, to be grateful for it. His training has saved his life a thousand times over—to say nothing of the times it's saved the lives of others.

As such, he's made sure to keep his skills sharp, even though they're not strictly necessary these days. Hogwarts isn't the _safest_ place around—a magical castle full of magical children, in varying stages of magical development, could never be considered such—but it's not exactly perilous, either. Teaching, despite the several (hundred) jokes John has made to the contrary, is nowhere near as dangerous as hunting Dark Wizards.

Which is why he's so surprised, when walking through the dungeons on his way to his training room one day, to find one of his extra senses tingling. He freezes and draws his wand, eyes scanning the hall. There's no one else around, and no _visible_ traps. But he _knows_ he just crossed a ward-line—he _felt_ it.

Keeping his ears open for sounds of an approaching ambush, he casts a detection spell. The results are…puzzling. There is indeed a containment ward in this hallway, but it's ridiculously low-powered. Not only is not enough to trap _him_ , it probably couldn't even trap a first-year.

A closer look reveals that the containment ward is also fairly small; it only covers about ten feet, including the door to the Potions classroom. Actually…the Potions classroom is the _center_ of the ward.

Frowning, he closes the final few feet to the Potions classroom. The door is open, and when he looks inside, he finds Jemma sitting at her desk—grading papers, if the look on her face (half concentration, half exasperation) is any indication.

She doesn't appear to be in any distress, so he returns his wand to its holster and knocks on the doorframe. She starts a little, nearly knocking a stack of parchment off of her desk, and he winces.

"Sorry," he says. "Didn't mean to startle you."

"It's nothing to worry about," she dismisses, smiling at him. "No harm done. What can I do for you?"

"I was just…wondering about the containment ward in the hallway," he says, a little awkwardly.

"I'm sorry," she says, standing hurriedly. "Did it trouble you? It wasn't meant to be that strong—"

"It's not," he interrupts. "It couldn't even stop a first year."

She pauses. "Then…how do you know it's there?"

"Call it a Hit-Wizard trick," he says. "Wards in places where no wards should be tend to be a pretty good sign that danger's just around the corner."

"Ah," she says, smiling. "There's a joke to be made about Wards in my dungeon, I think, but I'm sure you've heard them all."

"I really, really have," he confirms, remembering (distinctly _not_ fondly) his training days. "Anyway. The ward?"

"Oh, yes," she says, and walks around her desk. She starts weaving through the students' tables, eyes on the floor. "I just wanted to make sure Hesper didn't wander too far."

"Hesper?" he asks, racking his memory for anyone by that name. He's drawing a blank.

"Hesper," she confirms, and suddenly crouches behind a desk. Before he can do more than blink, she stands up again, cradling—

"A cat?"

"A kitten," she corrects happily. "Isn't she lovely?"

"I…guess so," he says slowly. Honestly, he's always been more of a dog person. "When did you get a kitten?"

"This morning," she answers, approaching him with the kitten. He really hopes he's not about to be asked to pet it. "A friend of mine in the Department of Mysteries has a cat who gave birth a few months ago. She's been trying to give away the kittens for ages and, well, I've always wanted one, so…"

She comes to a stop in front of him, beaming down at the cat. It's quite a smile, and—even though it's not even aimed at him—it takes him a moment to gather his thoughts in the face of it.

"Why Hesper?" he manages, after a somewhat awkward pause.

She looks up at him, appearing surprised. "After Hesper Starkey, of course."

"Right," he says. "Of course."

"Hesper Sparkey," she says leadingly. "Studied the uses of the phases of the moon in potion making? She's very well-known…in certain circles."

"Certain potions-making circles?" he guesses.

"Right," she laughs. "Good point." She looks down at the cat, which is watching Grant with a frankly creepy stare. "Hesper, this is Professor Ward. He teaches Defense Against the Dark Arts. Grant, Hesper."

He feels…really ridiculous, but she's giving him an expectant look and he knows how some people get about their pets.

"Nice to meet you, Hesper," he says.

The cat gives him a disdainful look and turns its head away pointedly. Jemma sighs a bit and gives the cat's ears a little scratch.

"She's very friendly to me," she says, kind of helplessly. "But with anyone else…"

"The cat's got good taste," he says, and instantly regrets it, because, really? What a stupid thing to say.

Luckily, though, Jemma doesn't seem to think so. She beams at him, delighted, and he swallows.

"Anyway," he says, and clears his throat. "I should…"

"Of course," she says, when he gestures awkwardly down the hallway. "I don't want to keep you from your training. I'll see you at dinner?"

"Right," he says. "Dinner. See you then."

Hopefully he'll have regained the ability to talk to her like a normal person by then. Somehow, though, he kind of doubts it.

(He is in _so much trouble_ with this woman.)

* * *

 **Prompt** : _Ward x Simmons - Potions_

One of the wonders of magic is how often and easily different disciplines intersect. Herbology and Astronomy, for example, influence Potions, which, in turn, intersects with Healing and Defense Against the Dark Arts. And Defense Against the Dark Arts brings together Charms and Transfiguration, which also have their uses in Enchanting and Care of Magical Creatures.

There are no end of ways that the various divisions of magic affect each other. Thanks to the way classes are defined, however, it would be easy for the students to fall into the pattern of seeing magic as an easily divided and isolated thing. As such, it's a long-standing tradition for the professors of those disciplines taught at Hogwarts to hold the occasional combined lectures, in order to highlight and explain said intersections to their students.

Jemma always looks forward to it. She thinks there's something beautiful about the connections in magic, and she enjoys approaching her subject from a different angle. The combined lectures are always interesting. She has fun giving them.

Planning them is something else entirely. _Planning_ the combined lectures is usually a logistical nightmare—torture on the level of sitting through a lecture on proper Ministry filing procedure.

Of course, usually she's not planning with Grant.

"So John says _what's the worst that could happen?_ and just knocks it back." He sighs. "Which is about the time I recognized the scent of lovage."

"Oh, no," she says, and covers her mouth. "Not…?"

"A Befuddlement Draught, yeah," he says. "A really strong one, at that. I had to take his wand away—he thought we were being attacked by butterflies."

"Butterflies?" she asks.

"Really vicious ones, apparently," he says with a slight shrug. "I think we could've taken them, but with John in such bad shape, retreat seemed the better option."

She laughs, and tries very hard not to read too much into the way he grins in response.

They've been sitting in the staff room, 'planning', for nearly three hours now, and while not much in the way of actual work has been accomplished, she's had an excellent time. Grant is unusually talkative today, full of stories about his work as a Hit-Wizard and appearing just as happy to hear of her own experiences in the Department of Mysteries, and she hasn't once stopped smiling since she sat down.

She's never seen him this way before—not with _anyone_ —and though she tells herself very sternly that he's simply in a good mood and that it's nothing to do with her, specifically…

Well, it's difficult not to get her hopes up.

"Anyway," he starts, but is interrupted as the grandfather clock in the corner chimes the hour.

"Oh," she says, and hopes that her disappointment isn't visible. "That's lunch."

"Right," he says, and it might be wishful thinking, but she thinks he looks a touch disappointed, himself. "Uh…" He glances down at the blank parchment in front of her, then gives her an apologetic smile. "I guess we didn't get much done, did we?"

"No," she agrees. "I suppose we'll have to find another time to meet and…try again."

"How's tomorrow morning?" he asks. "The Dueling Club is meeting tonight, and I can't miss that, but I'd like to have this ironed out before Monday."

"Tomorrow morning is fine," she says, attempting not to sound too eager. "I'll meet you here after breakfast?"

"Sounds good," he says, and stands. "I have to stop by my office, so…I'll see you at lunch?"

"Dinner," she corrects. "I'm meeting a friend in Diagon Alley for lunch."

It's a complete lie—she has no plans at all—and she has no idea why she tells it, save for the fact that she's suddenly terrified by the idea of speaking to him in front of other people…people like Skye and Fitz, who will absolutely notice how _preoccupied_ by him she is, and will take far too much pleasure in it.

Luckily, Grant doesn't appear to realize her dishonesty.

"Dinner, then," he nods. "Later."

"Later," she echoes, and watches as he leaves the room. Then she groans and slumps forward to press her forehead against the table. What is it about him, she wonders, that turns her into a sixth-year?

Actually, she was never this ridiculous about boys even when she _was_ a sixth-year.

So the real question is, what is it about him that makes her so _pathetic_?


	2. Chapter 2

_**Prompt**_ : _Homorphus - Skye & Lance_

Being a night owl had always been something of a curse when she was a student at Hogwarts since there was nothing really to entertain her at night when everyone else was blissfully asleep and she's stuck in her bed trying to fight off insomnia.

Fortunately, as an instructor, Skye would admit the gig has its perks. For one, she didn't have a curfew. She could stay up as late as she wanted so long as she was awake enough to teach the next morning. She got her sleep schedule on a routine now that that wasn't a problem for her.

The second reason was that the school itself comes alive in an entirely different way once all the students were off to bed. The ghosts that roam the halls were livelier. The house elves in the kitchens were always offering her food (when were they not) when she ventured in for a midnight snack. Even the paintings whispered more in the late night hours. Most nights, once she was sure everyone was asleep, Skye would lock up her office and roam the halls, excited to see what adventures lie in the mysterious castle because even after years of being there, she was pretty there were still corners of it she hadn't seen or explored yet.

On this night, she had agreed to accompany Lance on one of his nightly patrols. He said that it's normally ridiculously boring but he finds ways to entertain himself (usually it was in the form of pestering Sir Cadogan, the knight in the painting).

She met up with him at the staircase by the caretaker's office and chuckled when she saw him followed by a kitten.

"Whose your friend?" Skye said with a twinkle in her eyes.

Lance looked down at the tiny calico and annoyingly shrugged. "Beats me. I was at the Hog's Head having a pint and when I left, it followed me back."

Skye bent down and scratched its head. The little cat made a mewing sound and tried to swat Skye's finger but lots its balance and toppled over. "Aw, aren't you a cutie?"

"Thanks." Lance smirked.

"I was talking about-"

"I know what you were talking about, Skye. Just let me have this okay?" Lance said moodily.

Skye raised at eyebrow at him and tilted her head. "Sheesh, what's eating you?"

"I was… nevermind." Lance shook his head as they started to walk the length of the corridor and up the steps towards the second floor for the beginning of the patrol.

"What? Tell me. Nay-" Skye bent down and scooped up the tiny kitten in hand and said, "Tell Mr. Fluffypants."

"We are not calling him Mr. Fluffypants." Lance argued.

"Why not? It's cute, just like him!" Skye cooed as she nuzzled the cat's head.

"First of all, I have too much dignity to keep a cat. Second of all, if you're going to keep him, you can't give him a name like that!"

"Why not? If he's my cat, I can name him whatever I damn well want!" Skye snapped at him as she pet the cat. The cat was indifferent to the exchange between the two humans.

"You can't because as a bro, I'm going to do him a solid and not have to subject the tike to a horrendous name like Mr. Fluffypants every time someone calls him. It's a matter of principle."

Skye rolled her eyes at that before she shrugged and suggested, "Alfred, then?"

"He's not your butler."

"But it would be so cool! I'll be Batman - except 100 percent cooler because I can do actual magic!" Skye stated gleefully as they made their way towards the restroom on second floor when she saw how tense Lance got.

"Hunter? Why are smiling in a totally creepy wa-"

"Shh! Looks like the night's improving for me already." Lance whispered as he crept around the corner and saw a pair of first years crouched over something, their backs turned to Lance and Skye.

Skye was impressed by how stealthy Lance swiftly moved towards the boys with deadly precision. She would not be surprised in the slightest if he was an ex-hit wizard when it just occurred to her that she had never seen him do magic.

"Hello boys."

The first years yelped and whirled around to see Skye and the school caretaker and knew that they were safe. "Oh. It's just you, Mr. Hunter."

"Whatchu boys got there?" Hunter asked, crossing his arms over his chest. Skye had to admit that though he could be a bit annoying, Hunter had killer arms. "Is that a packet of Frog Spawn Soap? Let me guess you filled the soap cartridges in the girl's bathroom with that joke stuff."

"How did you know?" the smaller of the two asked in astonishment. The bigger one jabbed him in the chest with his elbow. "Ow!"

Lance just shook his head. "You know boys, I normally would just give you a detention for being out of bed after curfew… but since I, more or less, caught you in the act with a witness, looks like you boys will need to be taught a lesson the hard way." Lance taunted menacingly. "Professor Skye your wand, please?"

"Uh, Hunter are you sure about this?"

"Absolutely."

His smile looked more sinister than Skye had ever seen it and was suddenly afraid for the student's lives.

Skye was in a bit of a conundrum: on one hand, she didn't think that the boys needed to be punished this bad (especially when Lance was in a mood) but on the other hand, she really wanted to see if he was a wizard or a squib like the rumors suggested. Her curiosity won out and she placed Alfred on the floor before pulling her wand from the inside of her robe and handing it to Hunter.

He took a step back and fell into a stand that had Skye racing through hundreds of spells he could choose.

"Prepare yourselves boys." Hunter said in an alarmingly calm voice before he pointed the wand at them and spoke his spell. " _Homorphus_."

' _What?_ ' Skye thought. ' _I've never heard of that spell before…_ ' and watched as nothing happened. Despite this fact, the boys were shaking like a leaf, their faces were pale and on the verge of tears.

"Now, will we ever be out of bed past curfew again?" Lance prompted.

The boys shook their head violently.

"Good! Off with you then." Lance stated before he turned to Skye, "Your wand, Professor. Oh and boys?"

The two students froze and turned to him slowly.

"In one moon cycle, you boys might be experiencing some… _changes_ to your physicality. You should be experiencing mood swings, growing of hair in unusual places, and you voice dropping a few octaves. That's when you'll know that my curse is working and that you are slowly turning into a werewolf. Right then, as you were." The boys were crying at this point and ran off towards the dorms in terror as to what had just happened to them… and what _will_ happen to them.

"What the hell was that, Hunter?" Skye demanded as she picked up Alfred into her arms and followed him down the the corridor.

Lance chuckled, "Aw, just harmless fun, Skye, don't be dower. Besides, you know it wasn't a _real_ spell anyway."

"Those boys were pissing their pants!"

"I know," Lance laughed as he shook his head, "it was priceless. By Merlin, I love first years."

* * *

 _ **Prompt**_ _: Riddikulus - Fitz & Ward_

"I've got a boggart in my closet. Could you get rid of it for me? It keeps turning into The Silence."

Grant looked up from his stack of quizzes and gave the Charms professor a look. "The what?"

"The Silence, you know, _Doctor Who_. Scary, three fingered, memory erasing, electrocuting monster that looks like that fellow from that "Scream" painting." Fitz brought his hands up to either side of his face and imitated a screaming face.

"Right…okay," Grant said wearily before he grabbed his wand and followed Fitz into the hallway towards his office, "despite what you may really think of me, Fitz, I'll have you know that I, in fact, do not watch British television programs made for children because of pride or dignity or self-respect. Whichever; take your pick."

" _Doctor Who_ is not just a television programme!" Fitz argued, "It's a science-fiction programme that started in 1963 and is _still_ running today! It's a significant part of British popular culture and elsewhere it has become a cult television favorite. The show has influenced _generations_ of British television professionals, many of whom grew up watching the series. It is a very reputable show!"

Grant just nodded as they came to a halt inside the Charms classroom. "Uh-huh, whatever helps you sleep better at night. Now, you said it was in the closet?"

"Yeah," Fitz said tensely, "just over there." He pointed to the large cupboard in the corner that was rumbling and rattling as though something was trying to beat its way out of the locked cabinet.

"Right," Grant pulled out his wand and was quiet for a moment. Fitz figured the guy couldn't think of anything funny and started to wonder if this might have turned into a fool's errand. But after a moment, the taller man brought his wand up and enunciated, " _Alohamora._ "

As the door of the cabinet unlocked and slowly opened, Fitz and Grant braced themselves for the shape-shifting non-being to come out.

Instead, what they heard was water dripping onto the hardwood floor.

The water dripped and dripped and soon the dripping was followed by a sniffle. It sounded like a child, but Fitz couldn't see him from the darkness of the cabinet. Suddenly, a single wet foot stepped out onto the floor, the figure following afterwards. It was a boy, no older than 10 years old, sopping wet and shivering.

Fitz looked at kid that the boggart transformed into with confusion and was about to ask Grant who he was when he saw the look on the taller man's face.

Grant looked to have been petrified into silence. Fitz had never seen the man so effected by anything; the defense Against the Dark Arts instructor was usually unfazed by anything that gets thrown his way but now it was like Fitz was seeing a whole different person.

His voice wavered with uncertainty when he spoke. "Ward?"

" _Grant… help me,_ " the boggart child called out to him; sounded like he was choking on something, " _Grant… please… I can't breathe._ "

When he just stood there stunned, Fitz said his name again. "Ward!"

And yet still, he stood, unmoved by Fitz's call, his attention transfixed on the boy in front of him. Not really sure what to do at this point, Fitz brought his wand up and cast the spell, " _Riddikulus!_ "

The wet child shifted into a monkey juggling on roller-skates and it started to flinch as Fitz's laughter broke the silence in the air. After a beat, even Grant looked slightly bemused by the scene, albeit still in his own stoic way.

Once it realized that it could not terrorize the occupants any longer, the boggart flew from the room and off to find another dark corner of the castle to hide in.

Fitz finally got a hold of his fit of chuckles and turned to Grant. "You okay there, Ward? Kinda botched that up a bit, ey?"

He cleared his throat awkwardly and then promptly turned around to leave the room. "Well, you seem to have taken care of your pest problem. If that'll be all-"

"Oye, I just asked you if you're alright you emotionally constipated bugger!" Fitz groused.

"I'm fine," Grant grounded out, sending him a look that said that this conversation was over and left without another word.

Fitz was left scratching his head. "The hell was that?"

* * *

 _ **Prompt**_ _: Confringo - Fitz and/or Skye_

Fitz and Jemma were in the teacher's lounge when Skye came into in a huff. "Is that food? Argh, I'm starving!"

"Why weren't you at lunch?" Fitz asked, "There was sausage casserole with butter beans."

Skye glared at the Charms professor as she grabbed two pumpkin pasties and proceeded to wolf them down. "Don't even talk about that! I was waiting at the owlery for 3 frigging hours waiting for Coulson's stupid comic book since he's at the Ministry with Hill doing whatever headmasters and mistresses do there."

Jemma and Leo nod sympathetically. "Why didn't you just come down for lunch and then go back up?"

Skye rolled her eyes. "Coulson gave me strict instructions that if that comic is even a tiny bit damaged or marred in any way, I would have to clean out the stables by myself for a _week_! I bet you it was because he thought I broke his replica of the golden snitch from that one famous quidditch match he loves so much-"

"1942 Quidditch World Cup match. Sweetwater All-Stars vs. Heidelberg Harriers." Jemma and Fitz said simultaneously.

"Yeah," Skye nodded, "that one."

"Did you though?" Jemma prompted, "actually break the snitch, that is?"

Skye pursed her lips. "… maybe?"

The other two shrugged and gave her a look that said, "well, there you have it."

"Whatever! I'm glad that's over finally. I don't get why he's so paranoid about that stuff," Skye complained as she slumped down and took a tentative sip from her cup of tea that Jemma poured for her.

"People are very sensitive about stuff that they care about. " Jemma commented diplomatically, "Why, Fitz here is paranoid that people will know that he's got a fascination with replicating a magical light saber."

Fitz turned to her with a look of outrage written all over his face. "Well, it ain't as bad as Ward's fear of small, wet children!"

Jemma and Skye looked at him as though he'd grown a second head. "What?"

"Yeah, the other day, I asked him to come and take care of a boggart for me because it kept turning into The Silence from Doctor Who-"

"Oh, The Silence is frightening, sure, but not nearly as frightening as the Weeping Angels. At least, the boggart didn't turn into one of those!" Jemma argued. "You can't even _blink_ before you get zapped into the past, loosing the rest of your life force from your time!"

"No," Fitz countered, "tell me how a stone shaped alien is more scary than a friggin being that can blast you with electricity!"

As the two argued about the validity of their claim on which Doctor Who monster was scarier, neither of them noticed how quiet Skye got. One moment Fitz was arguing about the legitimacy of why the Silence was more of a threat than a Weeping Angel, the next moment, a large explosion shook the room.

"What the hell was that?!" Fitz whirled around and saw a small crater on the floor a few feet from where they were sitting, with a smoldering pile of ash at the center of it. "Why?" Fitz asked in confusion, not able to properly articulate his thoughts as he looked over the Skye.

Skye winced, "Sorry. There was a spider."

Jemma and Fitz looked at her stunned. "And you thought using _confr-_ a _blasting_ curse was an appropriate response to the presence of a single spider?" Fitz sputtered.

Skye held up her hand. "In my defense, it was a really big spider."

"You could have blasted the whole bloody room to smithereens! And I promise you, that'll definitely be more than a _year's_ worth of stable cleaning!" Fitz roared.

"A really, _really_ big spider?" Skye offered.

Fitz shook his head. "I can't- I can't do this! Here, I was _trying_ to have a serious conversation but no! You just had to go bring out the fireworks. You girls are hazard to my health, you know that!" he picked up his things and stormed out of the lounge pushing past Bobbi as he muttered to himself down the hall. "Hazard!"

"What's up with him?" she asked as she looked around the room. her follow up question was in regards to the pile of soot on the ground. "What's up with that?"

Skye not wanting to dig herself an even deeper hole just waved the question off, "Water under the bridge. What's up with you? How's it goin'?"

Bobbi nodded. "Good. I'm just looking for Fred the tarantula. He got out of his tank last night and I've been looking for him all morning. Have you seen him?"

Jemma and Skye were silent for a beat before Jemma asked the million dollar question, "Was he a really, _really_ big spider?"

* * *

 _ **Prompt**_ _: Crucio - Grant Ward_

 _They're surrounded—pinned down and cornered in the courtyard—and things are looking grim. Jacobson and Chaimson are both dead and Kwan, by the looks of it, might join them any minute. He's down and bleeding, and if not for the wards over the manor, his emergency Portkey would have whisked him away to St. Mungo's about ten curses ago._

 _John's on the other side of the courtyard, sheltering with Hawkins and Carter behind some statues. Grant knows_ he's _alive because he can hear him swearing between incantations, but Hawkins and Carters' statuses are unknown._

 _As for himself…_

 _He's simultaneously dueling four different wizards_ while _protecting Kwan. He's managed to avoid most of the curses cast his way, but one of the bastards got a lucky_ Reducto _to the wall behind him, and he took some shrapnel to the shoulder. It's slowed him down—not by much, because pain is nothing new, but in these circumstances, every second counts._

 _He no sooner has the thought than his point is abundantly proven: three curses head for him while one is aimed at Kwan, and he has to make a choice._

 _He erects a shield around Kwan and dodges the first two curses, but he has to let the third hit him or the shield will fail—and then Kwan is dead for sure. It's a strategic decision; he knows_ exactly _what the third curse is (recognizes it from previous experience) and what it will do to him, and he definitely doesn't want to get hit by it, but better the curse you know than the one you don't, and he doesn't recognize the other two._

 _So he lets the_ Crucio _hit._

 _His world is pain. Every nerve is on fire. It's like being ripped apart and twisted back together and then ripped apart again. He realizes, dimly, that he's screaming, but he can't stop. Somewhere in the back of his mind, a voice tells him to work through it, grab his wand, cast something—anything—but he can't move past the pain._

 _All he can do is_ feel _._

 _Days or decades later, it finally ends. He's on the ground, his wand beside him, and before he can even reach for it there's a boot on his hand, grinding his fingers into the cobblestone beneath them._

" _Not so fast, Hit-Wizard," the man above him grins. "Not a fan of the Cruciatus, then? You should give it another go—you might find you like it."_

 _Then there's a wand aimed directly at his face, and he doesn't even have time to brace himself before—_

Grant wakes when he hits the ground, and he's instantly on his feet, wand in hand, ready to curse the bastard that…

That isn't here.

He takes a deep breath and scrubs his free hand over his face, then sets his wand on the nightstand. He's at Hogwarts, not that old manor. He's a teacher, not a Hit-Wizard, and the only dangers here are over-zealous students and the occasional wandering creature.

It was just a memory. He doesn't know what stirred it up after so many years, but…it was just a memory.

Knowing that it was just a memory doesn't do anything to lessen the effects of the nightmare. There's a familiar thrumming under his skin—anger and adrenaline and pent-up magic—and he knows he won't be sleeping again anytime soon.

He glances at the clock; it's just after one, which gives him six hours to work this energy off and hopefully get a few more hours' sleep before breakfast.

To his training room it is, then. He dresses hurriedly—because he gets enough unsettling looks from the upper-year girls as it is and can't imagine that running into one of them dressed only in pajama pants would help (and no matter how harsh the punishments on offer, no boarding school has ever successfully stopped students from wandering out-of-bounds at night)—then grabs his wand from the nightstand and leaves his quarters.

Hopefully a few hours spent putting himself through his paces will help erase the memory of his own screams.

* * *

 _ **Prompt**_ _: Crucio - Jemma Simmons and Grant Ward_

** (Follows Grant Ward: Crucio)

As a Potions Mistress, Jemma is accustomed to late nights. Potions is a very delicate, very _specific_ art, and each individual potion requires attention in very exact ways—ways which care little for the brewer's sleep schedule.

So it is that Jemma is used to dragging herself out of bed in the middle of the night to stir a particular potion on time, or add a specific ingredient or increase the heat or any of a thousand other little things which help along the process of a group of ingredients becoming a cohesive potion.

Which isn't to say she's particularly _happy_ about it, but…needs must.

On this particular night, however, she isn't dragging herself out of bed—mostly because she hasn't slept at all. She's working on an experimental potion of her own design, which will—hopefully—eventually be a more effective version of Dreamless Sleep. Magic enjoys irony, so she's experimenting with the effect that missing sleep to work on a potion meant to induce it will have.

(Specifically, her goal is to eliminate the potion's addictive properties. It's a fascinating and challenging experiment, and she's been enjoying it, but she's slightly concerned by it, as well. Or, more precisely, she's concerned by the fact that Headmaster Coulson _asked_ her to undertake it. Generally, he leaves her to her experimenting and doesn't get involved; to have made a request is very unlike him and somewhat worrying.)

Sometime around one in the morning, she's distracted from her brewing—or, rather, her reading; she's keeping herself awake by grading essays as she waits for the potion to finish simmering—by the tingle of her proximity alarm going off.

She frowns and sets the essays aside, stands, and heads out into the corridor. Students are generally wise enough to avoid her section of the dungeons during their late-night wanderings, as everyone knows that she keeps a proximity charm on the entire corridor at night—not in the interests of catching students out after curfew, of course, but rather because her work is delicate and the last thing she needs is an unexpected visitor distracting her at a crucial moment and causing an explosion.

When she reaches the corridor, she finds that her unexpected visitor is not a student, but a professor. Specifically, Grant—looking exhausted and more than slightly on-edge—is just passing her door as she opens it. He whirls to face her, and she has the distinct impression she's perhaps a fourth of a second away from being hexed when he relaxes and palms his face.

"Your proximity alarm, of course," he says, almost to himself. "I'm sorry, I wasn't—if I'd been thinking, I'd have taken the long way."

"It's fine," she dismisses. She's really more concerned with _him_ —if he not only forgot but didn't _notice_ her proximity alarm (his ability to detect wards as he crosses them is utterly fascinating, and something she is _dying_ for more details about, though she thinks it would be quite rude to ask), he really must not be well. "Are you all right, Grant?"

"Yeah, fine," he says (unconvincingly). "I just—couldn't sleep. Thought I'd get some training in, try to tire myself out a bit."

He looks plenty tired to Jemma, and she suspects his actual difficulty is _nightmares_. But she can't imagine calling him on it will help any.

Still, she can't bear the idea of letting him go when he looks like this—so clearly shaken and on edge, a distinct contrast to his usually calm demeanor. She casts a look over her shoulder, considering her potion, and then mentally dismisses it. Her lack of attention will undoubtedly ruin this attempt, but that's fine. It will simply spoil, not explode, so there's no danger—just inconvenience.

And she can tolerate inconvenience (and another few sleepless nights, as she starts over) if it means Grant stops looking so terribly alone.

"Do you mind if I join you?" she asks.

He blinks. "Join me? You don't…"

"Not in training," she specifies, and can't help but laugh a little at the look on his face. He's obviously trying to find a delicate way to inform her that his _training_ is far, far above her level—something that is undoubtedly true, and therefore not offensive at all. "What I meant was, I'm not making much progress tonight, and it's very frustrating. I could use some company, and I thought that perhaps you could, as well."

He's silent for a long moment, and despite herself, her heart sinks a little. (Which is just silly—if the man doesn't want company after what was clearly a horrible nightmare, it's nothing to be taken personally—but there it is.)

Then he smiles, just a little.

"Yeah, actually," he says, and he sounds a bit surprised at himself. "I really could."

"Excellent," she says, and sweeps an arm in the direction of his training room. "Lead the way, then."

* * *

 _ **Prompt**_ _: Dissendium - Skye and Tripp_

In the cover of night, Trip moved stealthy across the deserted corridor on the third floor and came to a stop in front of the One-Eyed Witch statue.

" _Dissendium_ " Trip whispered. He takes a tentative step back as the hump on the witch's statue opened to reveal a short slide into a dark and earthly tunnel.

Trip glance quickly up and down the corridor, hoisted himself headfirst into the hole and pushed himself forward. Once inside, he held up his wand, muttered, " _Lumos_ ", and saw that he was in the familiar narrow passageway that stretched out beneath the castle and into the darkness.

He tucked his wand into his robe, making the coins in his pocket jingle about before he stood still and focused his energy. Moments later, he felt a familiar primal take over brew in his body as he gave in to the change of his physical form. In his human form, Trip estimated that it would take him about fifty minutes to reach Hogsmeade. In his animagus form of a panther though, he was sure he would make quick work of the distance to the cellar of Honeydukes.

He waited to make sure the opening into the school was closed behind him before he leapt into the passageway, his cat like eyes serving as guidance in the darkness. He was on a mission and he had only a couple of hours to do so until Hunter makes his rounds on the third floor. Trip would rather not have to explain to him why he was out, in the dead of night, going to Honeydukes.

The reason was a noble one, sure, but Trip would never live it down if the school caretaker found out that he had snuck off in the middle of the night to pick up exploding bonbons for Skye.

She'd been injured earlier that day at the quidditch match by a stray bludger and was now in the hospital wing recovering from a fractured wrist. Later in the hospital wing, she joked with Trip that when she attended Hogwarts as a student, Coulson used to always bring her exploding bonbons whenever she got injured during quidditch. It was a small gesture but one that stuck with the young Muggle Studies instructor till this day. Seeing how miserable she was, Trip decided he could do this small gesture for her… as a friend would for another friend.

When he was sure he would never reach the cellar, the look on Skye's face when she saw the exploding bonbons kept him going. After what felt like thirty minutes the passage began to rise. Panting, Trip took a few moments to catch his breath before transforming back into his human form. He pulled out his wand, and illuminated the dark passageway and the worn stone steps beneath his feet, which rose out of sight above him. Careful not to make any noise, Trip ascended the staircase. He had forgotten how many steps it was until her reached the top and lost count at a hundred or so when suddenly, his head hit the wooden planks that lined the floor of the cellar.

Carefully as he could, he pushed the trapdoor open and peered over the edge. All that he could see were the wooden crates and boxes; not a soul in sight. For fear of tripping any warding spells that the store may or may not be armed with, Trip took a deep breath and concentrated on summoning to him a bag of bonbons. Moments later, a bag of colorful candy whizzed towards him, which he caught easily in his wand-less hand.

Now came the tricky part.

He pulled out the coins in his hand and picked out a single shiny gold galleon. Placing a levitating charm on it, Trip closed his eyes and imagined the set-up of Honeydukes, before sending the coin on its way to the top of the wooden steps. He slid it under the door and hoped that Mr. or Mrs. Flume find it before a patron does.

With the bag of treats in hand, Trip tucked it and his wand safely away in his pocket before transforming back into a panther and leapt down the hundred or so steps and smiled happily as he made the long trek back to Hogwarts.

* * *

 _ **Prompt**_ _: Scourgify - Jemma and Skye_

 **DO TAKE CARE DURING YOUR EXCURSION THROUGH THE DUNGEONS, AS PESKY PIXIES HAVE SCATTERED POTION INGREDIENTS ALL OVER!**

"Uh oh," Skye murmured as she read the sign that hung above the corridor leading towards the Potions class.

She cringe at the state of the classroom when she walked through the threshold.

Jemma was elbow deep in a green slime that Skye recognized was used for thickening potions. "Hey there, Simmons. You need a hand with-"

" _Flobberworm mucus_ , Skye!" Jemma interjected, her displeasure evident on her frazzled features. Strands of her dark amber hair was stuck to her forehead and neck with sweat and stray drops of mucus. " _All over the place_! It is an absolute mess in here! There's no way I can conduct the joint class with Ward now."

The Muggle Studies instructor quirked an eyebrow in confusion before she volunteered to help with the clean up.

Jemma's unusually foul behavior evaporated as panic seem to set into her features. "Oh, no. Th-that won't be necessary. I'm sure you have a very busy schedule to attend to and I wouldn't want to impose with such a daunting chore-"

Skye narrows her eyes and pulls out her wand without ceremony before pointing it at a very large glob of green goo and called out, " _Tergeo_." The incantation siphoned the liquid from an area of the cabinets and tables to disappear, leaving behind a spotless corner of the dungeon. She turns to another section of the wall that seemed to be splattered with bat spleens and saw to it that the walls were renewed to their clean states in moments.

"It's okay, Skye- there's no need for-" Jemma argued as she flitted about behind her friend, who made quick work of the frog spawn, pufferfish eyes, skin of boomslang, and honey.

As Skye pointed at a puddle of _tormentil tincture_ and clearly pronounced " _scourgify_ ", she whirls around to face Jemma, wand pointed at the Potion Mistress' nose. "Okay, spill it, missy! Obviously, this was not an accident. You are hiding something and I want answers _now_! What is going on, Simmons?"

Jemma's wide eyes crossed, looking down her prim nose to the point of the wand and began to bite at her lower lip. Skye's suspicions about Jemma's odd behavior is only confirmed by the presence of her pearly white teeth gnawing her anxieties; the nervous tick gave her away every time. "It's Ward!" she blurts out. "Oh, Skye, I am in so much trouble!"

"Why?" Skye's worried face quickly turned mischievous with her follow up question, "Did you manage to hex him like you did with that one Ministry guy last summer cuz you don't know how to flirt?"

"I know how to flirt!" Jemma retorts incredulously.

Skye's eyes went wide then. "Did you try to flirt with Ward?"

"Yes. I mean no… I mean kind of- gah! I don't know, it's all so complicated." Jemma deflates and falls into one of the student seats in defeat.

"It's not really that complicated." Skye pressed. "It's either you didn't in which case what are you worrying about? Or you did and was successful, in which case _spill_!"

Jemma cringed. "How about… I wasn't trying to flirt with him at all but I was helping him with some cuts on his hands during a particularly intense workout session of his and we were talking and we were very close - proximity wise, that is - and I found myself leaning into him and I almost kissed him and I think he was about to kiss me and then I ran away?"

The situation was very clear now.

"So… now you have a joint class session and you don't want to face him because you think you might have made things super awkward?" Skye ventured.

Jemma tilted her head, in a sign of confusion, before shaking it negatively. "Not at all, I'm afraid I might act on my impulses and do something inappropriate in the middle of class."

Skye went completely still before pulling her wand back up again and threatened to use the cleaning spell on Jemma.

* * *

 _ **Prompt**_ _: Fidelius - Melinda May & Maria Hill_

Fall arrived, spreading a damp chill over the grounds and into the castle. Doctor Streiten, the school's acting medical adviser, was kept busy by a sudden spare of colds among the staff and students. Though Simmons' Pepperup potion worked wonders, it did leave the drinker smoking at the ears for several hours afterwards.

Large drops of rain pelted down on the castle windows for days on end; the lake rose, the flower beds turned into muddy streams, and Mack's pumpkins swelled to the size of garden sheds. Despite the bleak weather, May carried on supervising Quidditch practice as though it were another sunny day. She flew over the pitch with the same ease she had as walking, even breathing, her eyes scanning over the team formations as they ran plays in the downpour.

A flint of gold pulled May's attention away from the swirl of students. At first she assumed it was a stray snitch that got loose when they were letting the bludgers out but upon closer focus, she sees that it's actually something moving on the edge of the forbidden forest.

May called out to one of the older kids to stand guard as she went to take a quick look as to what was lurking in the trees, this far out from the thick of the woods. Landing just inside the edge of the treeline, May dismounted her broom and pulled out her wand before calling out into forest of damp trees, "I'll have you know, whether you are foe or beast, I will not go down without a fight."

"Jeez, May, is that how you greet all your colleagues?" Hill said as she stepped out from behind the thick coniferous. "All I wanted was a heart to heart."

"There are more direct ways to talk to someone, like say, waving them down from the stands to talk or perhaps waiting until we're inside the castle where it's not raining." May suggested.

Hill shrugged, "This conversation requires a level of discretion that the castle never provides." the other woman could hardly argue with that.

"Well, you got your discretion. What is it? And when did you and Phil get back from the ministry?"

"A couple of hours ago," Hill replied digging her boot into the muddy ground, something May recognized as an anxious tick.

"What's wrong?" May prompted. "And, don't tell me it's nothing."

Hill hesitates for a moment before stealing herself and meets May's eyes. "Before I tell you anything, you must agree to be a Secret Keeper."

May rolled her eyes, "Damnit, if this is about Phil's birthday surprise, I swear, Maria-"

"I'm being serious," Hill insisted, "It's about Phil's… condition."

This gave her pause; May had no idea that Phil was ill. She knew about the mission he took with the British Aurors that got him severely injured, hell, the official report said he had died on the operating table but they were able to revive him in time. Hearing that he might be seriously ill did not bode well for her. "Is he…"

Hill jumped in before she could even form the words that were weighing her heart down, "Do you agree to be a Secret Keeper, Melinda?"

"Yes," she replied without hesitation.

Hill pulls out her wand and casts the Fidelius Charm just over May's chest. The area glowed in a soft golden light and Hill began to divulge her secret, "Phil Coulson… wasn't dead for a couple of minutes or hours; he was dead for days. But since Fury wouldn't allow him to stay dead, he ordered Doctor Jay Streiten and a team of witches and wizards at St. Mungo's to perform a forbidden spell that required the administration of a certain illegal potion to bring Phil back from the dead. The transcript of the procedure is in my office."

May was stunned stupid. "Why are you telling me this?"

Hill pulled back her wand and tucked it away back in her robe as she spoke with a heavy heart. "When we were at the ministry, Phil started asking around for his files during the procedure, saying he's been having trouble sleeping and was hoping to have Streiten take a look at his files before he diagnosed him with anything." Maria sighed, "Of course Phil doesn't know that Streiten already knows what kind of condition his body can take because he was there during the procedure."

She stepped forward and clasped her hand over May's shoulder. "I've tried to be a friend to Phil but he's been closed off. He sees me as a colleague rather than a confidante; I can't ask him the really serious stuff. But you can.

"I need you to keep an eye on Phil for me and Fury. Let me know if he displays any strange behavior or begins experiencing any strange effects of the potion. I wish I knew why it took over 3 years for this experimental procedure to trigger any side-effects now but I suppose that's what we get for stepping into the realm of the gods."

May is left speechless and takes a moment to mull the information that had just been divulged to her. "After all this time, he still doesn't know?" May asked.

Hill stares at the hand on May's shoulder before drawing it back with a heavy heart. "He can never know. It'll hurt him less this way."

"I don't see how secrets could ever not hurt someone…"

Hill sighs and May can see how much this was weigh down on Maria too. She works so closely with Phil that this must have been weighing her down for years now.

In the end, Hill pulls out something from her pocket and tosses it to May. She catches it easily and opens her palm to see the golden snitch roll around in the middle of her palm. "This is for best," Hill insists, "you understand that, don't you, May?"

She hated keeping secrets from Phil; he was one of the few people she trusted and even the thought of keeping something this big felt morally wrong. Yet, as though the information itself was a sentient being, she felt it stir in her soul at the thought of telling anyone this secret.

May will be carrying this vow to her grave.

Firm in her resolve, May nodded her head once. "I understand."

* * *

 _ **Prompt**_ _: Tarantallegra - Lance Hunter_

"Tell me again why I agreed to do this?" Idaho asked, as he swatted and scratched at the side of his neck where the hanging leaves from the vines above their heads brushed against his skin.

"I told you, it's to get back at Simmons for the itching jinx she set on me during the staff meeting." Hunter explained again, his displeasure at the scene in front of him only fueled his ire.

"What does that have to do with me? I wasn't even there?" he argued.

"Moral support, mate. You signed up for it when you agreed to get beer with me four years ago." Hunter whispered back.

"The beer wasn't even that good." Idaho mumbled as he pulled out his wand from his robes.

"So what did Bobbi do to you that warrants a dancing feet spell?"

" _Existing_." Hunter rumbled.

"Right. So.. why am I here, then?"

Hunter rolled his eyes, "Because, Fitz, you're better at charms than all of us and this spell requires a delicate _touch_." He lowers his voice when he sees Simmons look towards them over her shoulder before turning back to Bobbi and her tea and tiny sandwiches. "We only got one shot at getting this right. And, besides, we have to use your wand."

"Why? Where is _your_ wand? Why do we have to use _mine_?" Fitz demanded.

"It's the whole master and wand thing - will you stop asking questions, now?" Hunter muttered as he tried to maneuver the plants of the green house so that Idaho and Fitz would have a clear shot of Bobbi and Jemma whilst still obscuring their presence. "Ready, boys?"

Fitz made a sounds as though he's going to be sick but nodded along side Idaho, who didn't look to be in much better a state.

" _Now!_ " Hunter murmured.

"Now?" Fitz asked but it was too late. His wand bumped into Idaho's and the spell shot into the vines in front of them. In seconds, the foliage came to life, thrashing around in a mamba fashion. The long tendrils and leaves whipped about, haphazardly hitting the three wizards left and yelped in pain and scurried out of the greenhouse, cursing up a storm. Hunter vowed the next time he gets Simmons alone, she will pay for each and every welt on his skin!

x

Jemma was so grateful to Mack for lending the greenhouse to her and Bobbi so that they could enjoy their afternoon tea under the sun. In a startling turn of events, the rain had finally let up and the droplets that glistened on the glass under the warm stream of sunshine made for a lovely backdrop for their weekend bonding time.

They were half way through their meal when Jemma heard whispers and scuttling coming from behind the large table of plants. "What was that?"

"Oh it's just Hunter, Idaho, and Fitz. I think they're trying to get the drop on us." Bobbi said easily, taking a sip of her tea.

"Oh. Did they want to join us? There's plenty of sandwiches left." Jemma mused.

Bobbi chuckled at the Potions Mistress and shook her head lightly, "I think they're here to crash the party, not join it."

"Oh," Jemma's eyebrows furrowed, "should I be worried?"

"No," Bobbi assured her lightly, picking up a biscuit from the tray and studying it before saying, "these things have a way of working themselves out."

Moments later, hisses and yelps came from behind the large wooden table and faded down the corridor away from the greenhouse and the tray of biscuits.


End file.
